Undercover
by Hollyflower98
Summary: An innocent trip to the department store. There's no harm in shopping, right? One-shot.


**Disclaimer:**** All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.**

**A/N: Betaed by my friend. I used some British terminology in this fic, so if you don't know what something means, look to the footnotes at the bottom. Post-****Into the Gauntlet****, pre-****The Medusa Plot****.**

Natalie Kabra strode confidently into Harrods* with not a worry in her mind. School had just let out for Winter Holiday**, and it was difficult to make her way through the throngs of people that had gathered to take shelter from the pouring rain outside. Natalie walked by a group of American tourists, past the sign advertising a sale, and over to the junior dresses rack. She browsed through them absentmindedly, and then suddenly noticed a man out of the corner of her eye. He was clad in black dress pants, matching Armani loafers, and a starch white button-up shirt with a navy blue blazer.

_Absolutely no fashion sense,_ Natalie thought, unperturbed, and turned back to the dresses. Suddenly, something occurred to her. She snapped her head back up again and silently cursed herself for being so stupid. _I'm halfway through Year 8***, for Prada's sake! _For the strange man had been waiting under the eaves of her boarding school, and had then followed her to and throughout Harrods, never taking his eyes off of her. Occasionally, he had whispered something, presumably into the Bluetooth in his left ear. _Act casual,_ was Natalie's silent mantra. _Act casual._ None of the dresses caught her eye, so she went on to look at blouses. Then skirts. Then handbags. And so on and so forth…

Two hours later, Natalie was looking at jewelry. She glanced at her watch and realized that she had better leave soon if she wanted to be home by teatime****. However, the man was still tailing her. She had tried everything to shake him off – weaving through crowds, hiding amongst the displays, and had even ducked into the loo to change her appearance – but all in vain. The man had just followed her relentlessly.

Natalie pursed her lips. She hadn't bought anything yet; she was too nervous to concentrate, even on couture. She knew it would look suspicious if she didn't buy _something_, so she quickly purchased a pair of diamond earrings and stepped outside of the department store. It had stopped raining, but there were still huge puddles on the sidewalk and street.

Glancing around, Natalie saw a double-decker bus about to leave its stop. Hurriedly, she walked over to it, paid the fare, and sat down in the first empty seat that she saw. She looked outside the window and saw the strange man leaning on a lamppost, watching the bus with a neutral expression. He said something into his Bluetooth, then turned around and walked away.

Natalie stared at his retreating figure until he turned a corner and disappeared from sight. She breathed a sigh of relief and leaned back in her seat wearily, not closing her eyes. _I really could use a facial._

Logan leaned against a lamppost, watching the bus into which she had disappeared with satisfaction.

"Mission complete," he whispered into his Bluetooth. "All checks affirmative. Heading back." Logan turned around and walked down the street, careful not to step into any puddles.

Eventually, after many turns and twists, he arrived at the back of an alleyway. Making sure the place was deserted, Logan opened one of the two rubbish tips***** and climbed inside.

Immediately, he fell through a chute that led several hundred feet underground. After a few seconds, he landed on his feet in the middle of a long, white corridor. He walked through the door on his right, into a room which contained a long wooden table, two dozen matching chairs, and a whiteboard. Resting on the end of the table was a laptop.

Logan walked over to the laptop, sat down, and opened it. He then called his boss, via Skype, for a full report.

A blurry image fizzled onto the screen. "Well, Davis?" barked the gruff voice of Logan's commanding officer.

"I think she suspected me, sir, and she tried to lose me, but after all, she is a Lucian.

"And did she succeed?"

"No, sir. I never lost sight of her."

"Good. Now, are you ready for your next subject?"

Logan sat up straighter. "Yes, sir."

"Very well. You must now track Nellie Gomez."

***A fancy, expensive department store in London.**

****In England, it's called Holiday instead of Vacation.**

*****The American equivalent of 7****th**** grade.**

******An English tradition. It takes place at about three to four in the afternoon, and is just a light snack of tea and cookies. For younger children, it's also their supper, and they are sent to bed a bit afterward.**

*******British term for a dumpster.**

**A/N: So, I guess this fic is meant to be a foreshadowing. If you're wondering how I know all these British terms, and you haven't read my profile, it's because I'm half British. My dad was born and raised in England, so I grew up surrounded by British culture, even though I live in California. Have a nice day, and remember 9/11! **


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